Catch-22
by bubblysuds19
Summary: Clint is injured while on a mission with Natasha in Madrid. His predicament stirs feelings in Natasha about her partner, causing their relationship to venture into uncharted territory. Pre-Avengers, set during their SHIELD partnership.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters._

Here's my next story! As stated in the summary, this takes place before the Avengers movie, while Clint and Natasha are working for SHIELD. They are not in a romantic relationship yet but you'll see in this story how that relationship evolves after the events of this mission.

Enjoy!

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_Madrid, Spain, October 2008, 23:16pm_

* * *

Clint was perched on the two-storey rooftop, his quiver resting against his back and his bow gripped in his right hand. He inhaled the crisp night air and scanned his eyes around the area, searching for his partner's presence.

"Widow, what's your location?" he spoke into the comm fitted in his ear.

"_Coming up west towards you..be there in a minute_," she replied, slightly breathless. She had just taken out two guards surrounding their target's office building but had barely broken a sweat.

Clint focused on the figure visible in the window of the building opposite him. Their target, Antonio Marquez, a notorious arms trafficker and gang leader, was seated in his office, his face illuminated by his laptop. His stern eyes were fixed on numerous files and papers strewn across his desk. Clint spied a tall man guarding the office door in the adjacent room, his hands brushing over a gun in its holster, ready for any impromptu attack.

"I have eyes on Marquez," Clint informed the Black Widow.

"_Right...on my way_," she responded, the comm crackling off.

Clint rubbed the nape of his neck absently and flitted his eyes to the crescent moon lighting up the night sky. The city looked beautiful submerged in darkness, the lights glinting invitingly in the distance. His stomach rumbled, breaking the weighty silence and he made a mental note to grab some food with Natasha after they wrapped up the mission.

He stiffened suddenly when movement from behind him caught his keen eyes unexpectedly. He sensed a shadow inching towards him.

Without hesitation, Clint swivelled his body to the side, avoiding the incoming blade by inches. He moved and nocked an arrow with ferocious speed but was never granted the second to release as the approaching attacker advanced speedily. The attacker dashed at Clint, knocking him to the ground. The archer's bow spun out of his grip, the arrow discarded on the cold rooftop ground. His quiver jabbed into the flesh at the small of his back as the man continued to wield the knife at Clint's face, slashing and slicing into thin air.

Natasha heard the bustling commotion through her earpiece. "Hawkeye?" she barked, ears alert and eager to hear his voice.

Clint struggled against his attacker's weight as he writhed underneath him. He managed to strike the man across the face with a heavy left hand jab, giving him the opening he needed. He scrambled to his feet and shifted to settle into a stance, arms in front, ready for another bout. The man swung again, knife still lodged in a death grip. He was inching forward each time he swung, causing Clint to step back towards the edge of the roof.

Clint hesitated slightly, his foot trying fruitlessly to find smooth ground underneath him. The man advanced all of a sudden and Clint, in order to avoid a nasty stab wound, instinctively moved another step back. His foot met air and all of a sudden he was weightless.

He sailed over the edge, arms flailing, trying to seek purchase in anything to try and stop his descent. He tumbled mercilessly to the ground, the almighty belt knocking the wind out of him. He landed awkwardly on his outstretched arms, his left shoulder taking the brunt of the fall, managing to cushion his vulnerable torso.

* * *

"Hawkeye?" Natasha roared into the comm again, desperate for a response from her partner.

She was rushing towards the building she knew Clint had been on, ready to unleash an unholy attack on whoever was preoccupying Clint so much that he wouldn't respond to her calls. She reached the rooftop, having dashed up the stairs, and spotted her partner just as he was pushed off the edge of the roof. She ran furiously at Clint's pursuer and brandished her glock in a fluid motion. Two gunshots later, the man dropped clumsily, bullet holes in his chest and forehead.

She ran towards the edge of the roof and looked down, eyes searching for Clint in the darkness. "Clint?" she bellowed, her eyes spying his unmoving form sprawled on the ground of the alleyway below. "No.." she breathed out, the sight causing her heart to almost burst out of her chest.

She ran towards the rooftop exit and scrambled down the stairs, bounding closer to the door. She would have taken the whole staircase if she could. Wild thoughts and flashes of memories invaded her mind. It was not going to end like this. She couldn't lose him, not after everything they had been through.

She exited the building with a bustle and ran toward Clint's position. She blew out a relieved breath when she saw him moving.

He was conscious and sitting on the cobblestone ground, his back flat against the brick wall. She scanned her eyes over his closed up figure, knees drawn up to his chest, his left arm hugged tightly against his body. He was panting like a winded animal, sucking in and blowing out sharp and erratic breaths.

She swallowed thickly, taking note of his ragged breathing. His eyes were scrunched closed, his face contorted in pain.

"Clint?"

Natasha's voice pervaded his panicked thoughts and he drew his eyes to her approaching figure. The pain in his shoulder and chest was so overwhelming he could barely move. He willed his erratic breaths to dampen the agony.

"Na-Nat?" he let out a ragged breath, clenching his teeth against the wave of pain. Natasha stepped closer to him, unsure of where to put her hands.

"N-" he tried again, worried when she failed to answer him. He was finding it increasingly difficult to talk.

She kneeled in front of him, allowing him to see her face. "Hey, I'm here," she soothed, her eyes encapsulating his wild ones.

"My sh-shoulder..I-I think it's out.." he gasped, pain interjecting every word that he spoke.

Natasha drew her eyes to the disfigurement visible underneath Clint's black jacket. She hovered her hands over the area, hesitant to touch it. "Okay..okay..we'll sort it out".

She flickered her eyes around to scan their surroundings, searching for any surprise attack to befall them. No obvious movement caught her eye, indicating that they were no longer being pursued, for now. "You want me to call it in?" she offered, reaching for the phone on her belt.

"No..no," he replied, shaking his head. "Try," he began, letting out another breath, "try and pop it back in."

"Clint.." she started, expression unsure.

"C'mon..you've done it before."

Her mind floated back to their mission in Lisbon when she managed to pop the same dislocated limb back while they were still in the field. "I know that but you weren't in this much pain, Clint...you can barely form words right now."

"Nah..it's all right..just let me get to my feet," he responded, waving away her concern.

He tucked the injured limb tightly against his chest and held out his other hand to latch onto hers. She accepted reluctantly and pulled him up from the ground, a muffled gasp escaping his lips as she did so.

"Take off your jacket," Natasha instructed, motioning to the black material. She aided him while he shifted his right arm out of its sleeve and she pulled as he allowed the sleeve of his left arm to slip off easily. The black t-shirt he was wearing became visible as he manoeuvred out of the jacket.

He moved the injured limb outwards so that she could get a hold of it. "Just try," he prompted, eyeing her with an encouraging look.

Natasha huffed in response and gripped his injured shoulder and arm with both hands. She settled her position, feet flat against the ground. She inwardly prepared herself for the attempted relocation. "Ready?" she spoke up, her voice alerting Clint's clouded senses.

Clint readied himself, moving his neck slightly from side to side, in an attempt to relax his muscles as much as his body would allow. He knew that the shoulder would never ease back in if he was tense. He blew out a slow breath in preparation.

"Do it."

Natasha wrenched the limb upwards in a fluid motion, attempting to slide it back in as painlessly as she could. An inarticulate grunt escaped Clint's lips and his breathing quickened in response to the splitting pain.

"Just a little more," Natasha added quickly, eyeing Clint's pained expression.

Clint worked hard to suppress his gag reflex, his stomach tinged with nausea.

She maintained her grip on the limb and tried her best to ease it in and alleviate his pain but the damn thing wouldn't budge. "Clint, I can't...it won't work...you're too tense!"

Clint muffled a pained response. Sweat coated his visible flesh, his face and neck drowning in a wet layer.

Natasha released his arm and gently lowered it to rest against his side. "I'm gonna call it in...there's no way you can continue," she muttered as she scanned her eyes over the archer's form again, the shoulder joint still slightly bent at an angle.

"Wait, wait.." he interrupted, blowing out another breath. He knew he couldn't continue with the mission but that didn't mean he couldn't keep watch while she did. "I'll keep an eye out...give me your glock...you go and get the son of a bitch..and take him down," he ground out between pain filled breaths.

Natasha eyed him doubtfully but she knew that they had to complete the mission and eliminate their target. If they failed, it would be their heads on Fury's guillotine the next morning.

"I won't move, I promise..it's just a dislocation. I've had plenty of them before, Nat," he responded, waving away her look of concern. "You can call in for backup when we get this done...I just need a few pain meds and I'll be as right as rain," he added with a crooked smile. "Go."

Natasha nodded reluctantly and handed one of her guns over to Clint. She turned her back and scurried towards the building. The sooner she took out the target, the sooner Clint would be in SHIELD medical, alleviated from his pain.

Clint stayed where he was, keeping his eyes peeled for any movement around Natasha. He watched his partner move stealthily towards the door of the building, her weapon at the ready.

Pain radiated through his shoulder and down his back and chest, agony coming in sharp bursts. He was reluctant to admit it but the injury didn't feel like a common dislocation, his fears only reinforced by Natasha's unsuccessful attempts to relocate the limb. He just hoped that the medics would be able to fix it without complication once they returned to base. He needed both arms working to do his job, to fire his bow. He refused to think about an alternative.

Natasha entered the building, shifting silently by the windows, keeping herself concealed in the shadows. Clint moved down the alleyway so he had a visual on the Black Widow, ensuring she was safe as she went in for the kill.

She moved through the building, approaching their mark's office. She spotted the burly bodyguard guarding the door and pounced on him, wrapping her thighs around him, taking him out swiftly with a sharp twist of his neck.

Moments passed and Clint heard her voice through his earpiece.

_"I have a visual on Marquez...approaching target_."

"You're good to go, Widow." Seconds later, Clint heard the two resounding gun shots and he held his breath for a moment.

_"Target eliminated_," Natasha's voice piped up. "_On my way out."_

"All right, call it in, Widow...Let's get out of here."

* * *

End of Chapter 1

I'm hoping that got the juices going for now... :)

Update soon!


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters._

Thanks for all the alerts and reviews..:)

And on with the next chapter...

* * *

"Again?" Coulson asked incredulously, forehead wrinkling as he raised his eyebrows in disbelief. He made his way out of the cockpit to get a good look at his two agents.

"Hey, it's only happened four times before, Coulson," Clint responded with a slight grin.

"Only four times? How comforting," the older agent added sarcastically as he returned to the cockpit and sat down in his seat.

They were currently on a flight back to SHIELD HQ in New York. Clint had been given a mild sedative to relax his muscles in preparation for the relocation. One of SHIELD's medics, Agent Dalton, had examined Clint's shoulder and confirmed the dislocation. He suggested that they try and reduce it as soon as possible to avoid the muscles and ligaments tightening any further.

Natasha rested her head against the back of her chair, her eyes hovering over Clint's form as he lay on the cot in the body of the plane. Clint's bow and quiver rested beside her chair, never too far away from the archer's line of vision.

Agent Dalton approached his patient and cracked his knuckles, loosening the bones in his hands. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Clint responded with a sigh. His shoulder still emitted a dull ache even with the sedative, but it was no where near as painful as when he first landed on it.

The medic reached for the arm and began rotating it slightly, trying to awaken the muscles and get them to respond to his touch. Clint closed his eyes and bit his lip, willing the wave of nausea to pass. Natasha kept her eyes on her partner, silently wishing that the reduction would be swift.

Through their partnership, she endured watching him undergo painful relocations, the removal of bloodied bullets from his battered body, the resetting of broken bones plenty of times, as did he for her, but that didn't mean it was a walk in the park seeing him in pain.

When she noticed Clint's eyelids slide shut, she piped up suddenly, hoping to distract him from the pain. "I wonder what Fury will make of your situation?" she spoke with a light laugh, hoping that he wouldn't detect the encroaching fear in her voice.

"I hope he appreciates...what I..go through for him...to get the job done," Clint responded with a slight hitch in his breath.

Natasha chuckled softly causing a smile to light up Clint's face. Her words and giggles managed to calm his nerves for the moment. The medic continued to rotate the arm, hoping to slide it back into the socket.

Fat chance of that. The limb refused to be coaxed.

"Barton, can you sit up for me for a sec?" Dalton asked.

Clint nodded and Natasha moved off her seat to help him sit up on the cot, her hands braced against his back. Dalton released Clint's arm and moved to pick up a discarded towel from the end of the cot. He hooked it under Clint's left arm, splaying the ends of the white material across his bare chest and back, allowing them to hang loosely over and behind the archer's right shoulder.

"Shaw, I'm gonna need a little more man power to try and ease it in," Dalton reported to the younger medic who was fiddling with Clint's IV line. "Take hold of the ends and pull them towards you," he instructed, indicating to the towel.

Shaw followed Dalton's orders, wrapping his hands around each end, one over Clint's shoulder, the other behind his back. He stiffened where he stood, waiting for the Dalton's cue.

"All right, Barton, we're gonna try and ease the arm in with opposing force from Shaw...lay back down and try to relax."

Natasha moved again, supporting Clint's back as they eased him back down on the cot.

Clint shifted to get comfortable, or as comfortable as his body would allow, and tried to distract his mind from the pain. He thought about all the time he would get to spend in the firing range after this ordeal, with only his bow and quiver as his companions. He debated thoughtfully whether he would let Natasha join him. He supposed her company would be nice. Clint's train of thought was then interrupted by the very person he was thinking about.

"Almost there, right boys?" Natasha inclined her head towards the two medics, willing them to get the job over and done with. She was standing beside the cot, to the right of Dalton, her arms folded across her chest.

Dalton proceeded and pulled on Clint's arm. Shaw mirrored Dalton's action and pulled the towel in the opposite direction. Natasha couldn't stop her heart racing when Clint let out a pained grunt in response to the medic's manipulation.

Fire.

His shoulder was on fire. He was beginning to wonder whether the damn thing would ever get back in. The burning in the joint accelerated his already erratic breathing and heart rate.

"Son of a-" Dalton cursed as he wiped his brow in frustration. He released the arm, inhaling deeply from the exertion.

"Everything all right in here?" Coulson piped up from where was standing in the cockpit, his ears alerted to Clint's agonised groan.

"Coulson, come over here," Dalton motioned the older agent over, his voice tight with annoyance.

Coulson came over immediately and eyed Clint's contorted expression with concern. "Barton, hey...you still with us?" he asked with concern.

"Yeah..I'm here," Clint spoke through clenched teeth, cracking an eyelid open to spy the older agent.

"All right...Coulson, you pull with me...Shaw, you pull with all you've got," Dalton instructed.

Clint inhaled sharply as they pulled forcibly. He thought he was going to pass out until he felt the pop before the it was audible to his audience. Relief washed over his whole body as he blew out a slow and shaky breath. Natasha grimaced slightly when the sickening pop assaulted her eardrums. She released the breath she hadn't realise she was holding and kept her eyes on Clint's splayed body.

Coulson placed a hand on Clint's chest and spoke softly, "You okay?"

Clint nodded weakly at the older agent, his chest still heaving from the manipulation. Pain still emanated from the area but he waved the niggling annoyance away, grateful that the shoulder finally was back in place.

Coulson turned his head towards Dalton and nodded at Clint's IV line. Dalton nodded back and upped Clint's sedative and pain medication. Coulson moved towards the cockpit, replacing the comm in his ear.

"It should be fine until we get back to base at least," Dalton commented, wiping his brow with the towel he removed from Clint's chest. "We'll take an x-ray and immobilise the joint once we land."

"Thanks guys," Clint spoke with an audible sigh.

Natasha uncrossed her arms and knelt down beside the cot, taking Clint's hand in her own. "Rest," she mouthed quietly.

It was all Clint heard as his eyelids grew heavy and unconsciousness enveloped him.

Coulson kept an eye on Natasha as she watched Clint slip into welcomed sleep. Her face relaxed as soon as Clint's chest settled into a rhythmic pattern. He had seen that look before but sensed there was something more to her relieved expression as her eyes fixed intently on Clint's prone form.

* * *

Hmmmm interesting...I wonder what Coulson is suspecting? :P

Update soon :D


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters._

Enjoy!

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_5 days later, SHIELD Headquarters, New York, 08:38am_

* * *

Clint entered the gymnasium, left arm hanging in a navy sling. He was wearing a grey training t-shirt and a pair of black training pants. Natasha was working up a sweat, striking a punching bag with gloved hands. Clint studied her as she moved swiftly, landing her belts with deadly force and flawless precision.

She stopped her workout as soon as she felt Clint's gaze fall upon her. "How's the shoulder today?" she asked, cocking her head towards the sling. She started removing the boxing gloves, her teeth pulling on the strap around her right wrist.

"Fine." His was tone short, brushing off her concern.

"Fine?" she parroted, taking in the dark circles that had appeared around his eyes. "Look at you trying to be all stoic," she joked. Clint gave her a heated glare in response.

She had noticed Clint's foul mood over the past few days, but with the injury he sustained she couldn't hold it against him. Dislocations were a bitch to get over and Clint's injury had been particularly tricky to amend.

"I didn't spot you at breakfast this morning," she inquired curiously, taking the hint and changing the subject quickly.

"Wasn't hungry," he replied with a one shouldered shrug.

Alarms bells began to ring in Natasha mind. It wasn't like Clint to miss out on a meal. He had managed a few mouthfuls here and there at dinner the past few evenings but as time went on he resorted to pushing his food around his plate, clearly uninterested in the cuisine SHIELD had to offer.

A long moment lingered and Natasha folded her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. "What's up?" she asked, her tone sharp, "You still in pain?"

Clint's face remained blank, his eyes unmoving, neither a yes or no answer evident. "I'll be fine..it's just taking a little longer to heal that's all," he responded, eyes darting away to stare at the other agents in the gym sparring together.

Natasha had caught on pretty quickly after their first job together that Clint was notorious for concealing pain or injuries. It was like pulling teeth to coax him to admit any discomfort or aches he had. Getting the job done was his main goal while he was steeped in an assignment.

"You sleeping at all?" she asked, moving to stand beside him to get a look at the match up his eyes were fixed on.

"Few hours.." he lied, eyes still fixed on the agents.

Natasha moved in front of the archer, blocking his line of vision. "You're lying to me," she finally revealed, putting together Clint's subtle hints that divulged his dishonesty.

"Nat-" he began, moving his eyes to meet her own.

She interrupted him before he could finish. "Come here." She grabbed his free hand and led him to one of the empty dressing rooms. "Sit," she instructed, guiding him down to the bench. She stood in front of him and examined the shoulder. She spotted the bandages peaking out from the grey material of his t-shirt. They were wrapped tightly around the injury to immobilize the joint. "Let me have a look."

He offered her his shoulder, moving his right hand to remove the sling. Natasha helped him as he did so. With his arm now free, he kept it hugged closely to his chest, willing the uncomfortable ache in his shoulder to dissipate.

Natasha skimmed her eyes over the joint, examining the swollen flesh peaking out from the bandages. It was red and angry looking. She hovered a hand over the area, feeling the heat emitting from the joint. She flashed concerned eyes to his, "Go to medical this afternoon and tell them you're having problems with it."

Clint huffed in response, clearly reluctant to go. "It's just a dislocation," he reasoned, moving to replace the arm in the sling. "You know I've had worse injuries than this."

"Yeah, I know, but it can't hurt, right?" She helped him as he fit his arm back into the sling. Clint gave her a childish scowl.

"I know you hate it but they're here to help.." she paused, one eyebrow arching slightly, "and don't even try to say that you're not in pain because I know damn well that you are."

Clint nodded, chuckling slightly at her words. Natasha had an innate ability to persuade, an ability that he almost always fell victim to. His mind flew back to their initial meeting almost three years ago. "All right..I'll head up later," he surrendered, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated manner.

Natasha smiled widely at him, satisfied that he obliged to seek help.

* * *

_SHIELD Medical, 12:19pm_

* * *

"Pain and localised swelling are to be expected, Agent Barton," Dr Adam Briggs commented, his tone direct and emotionless.

"I know that, but something doesn't feel right...the pain is stopping me from getting any sleep at all," Clint admitted with a frown. When something got in the way of Clint and his sleep, there would be hell to pay. Over the last few nights he had barely gotten a wink with the incessant pain.

"Okay, I'll sneak a peek at it." The doctor moved off his chair and read through the chart in his hands, eyes flitting through the numerous pages.

Clint removed the sling and the doctor examined the tightly wound bandages. He poked slightly at the visible flesh at Clint's joint, feeling the unmistakable heat emitting from it. He moved to undo the bandages so he could get a better look.

Once Clint's chest was bare, Briggs continued his examination. "Bring it towards me," he prompted, motioning Clint to move it forward towards the doctor's body. Clint moved but the shoulder protested, pained rivulets travelling down his arm. He closed his eyes in frustration, his breath quickening.

The doctor raised his eyes to meet Clint's face, taking note of the archer's discomfort. "Try and rotate it a little...just small circles," Briggs instructed. Clint tried with all the strength he possessed but the pain overpowered his senses and he lowered the arm down and hugged it tightly to his chest once again.

"Your range of motion is worrying," the doctor commented, prompting a lump to form in Clint's throat.

Briggs leaned in closer to scan his eyes over the exposed area, focusing on the reddened skin. His eyes took note of the unusual inflammation underneath the skin. He palpated the area and watched for Clint's reaction. Clint bit his lip and suppressed a low groan as best he could. Fear began to creep in the doctor's mind when he noticed the archer's grimace.

"Everything all right, doc?" Clint eyed the doctor with a concerned look.

Briggs didn't respond to Clint's question, causing him to swallow thickly. The doctor continued to probe Clint for information. "On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad is the pain?"

Clint blinked for a moment and thought. "7," he answered quickly.

Briggs eyed the agent carefully_. I'll take that as a 10 so. _"I'm going to order another x-ray just to see what's going on," the doctor suggested. Clint nodded and proceeded to re-apply the sling.

"I'll up your pain meds as well," he added while scribbling some notes onto Clint's chart. He did the same on a prescription pad a moment later.

Clint nodded mutely, willing the dread that had occupied a space in his stomach to disappear. He moved off the cot, careful not to jostle his shoulder, and made his way into the radiography room down the hall.

* * *

"Sally, call theater," Briggs ordered urgently to the nurse in the adjoining room. She moved swiftly to the phone on the desk and dialled speedily. Briggs' eyes were transfixed upon Clint's x-ray, the black and white image illuminating the darkened room.

Clint was still on the x-ray table, waiting patiently, eyes focused on the ceiling above him. He was thinking about Natasha and the time that she had broken her ankle after a nasty fall and needed an x-ray to confirm the fracture. He remembered waiting for her in the waiting room until she had her cast on. He still remembers her face, unperturbed, as she hobbled through the door, her two arms supported by crutches. It was just another fracture she would add to her lengthy list in her mind. The two agents had their fair share of broken bones, concussions and dislocated joints throughout their missions. Clint was hoping that he would be out of medical and chatting to his partner in one of his improvised nests in no time.

His hopeful anticipation shattered when a nurse bustled into the room and asked Clint to change into a gown and get onto a gurney.

"What's going on?" Clint piped up, sitting up straight as she approached.

Briggs then walked through the door with an IV set and a box for discarded sharps in his hands. "Clint, we need to get you to surgery," he announced as he started prepping Clint's arm for the needle.

Clint's eyes widened in alarm, his mind adjusting to the sudden revelation. His right arm flinched away from Briggs' needle. "What?..Why?"

"The x-ray showed us that you have a fracture in your left humerus and there is some bleeding and swelling around the area."

"So?..can't you just put a few ice packs on there..." Clint suggested with little effort. He was just trying to prolong the inevitable.

"Clint, if we don't do this now..there's a chance you could lose your arm," the doctor stated urgently.

Clint blinked in disbelief, shock enveloping his senses.

He could lose his arm.

His mind repeated the doctor's words in a looming echo. No arm meant no archery, no archery meant no SHIELD. His scattered thoughts were soon interrupted by the doctor's words.

"We need to relieve the pressure around the fracture...that's why we need to get you into surgery asap," he added quickly, urgency in his delivery.

Clint nodded obligingly, moved off the bed and made his way into the adjoining bathroom. He dressed hurriedly into the gown and paused for a moment, taking in the sight staring back at him in the mirror. His skin was pale, small freckles standing out in contrast against his pallor. Dark circles shaded the area around his eyes. He closed them for a moment and let out a slow breath, mentally preparing himself for the operation. He couldn't stop the fearful thoughts and anxiety as they assaulted his muddled brain and he fought to gain control of his now accelerated breathing.

_Fracture. Bleeding. You could lose your arm. _

Clint calmed his thoughts and ventured back into the room and lifted himself onto the gurney. Two medics had appeared in the meantime and they wheeled him out of the room and into the pre-operative area to prep him for surgery.

"Okay, Clint, I'll administer the anaesthesia in a few moments...you want us to contact anyone in particular?"

Clint hesitated slightly before speaking, realising that his red headed partner was probably going to kill him as soon as she found out about his situation. But he wanted her here when he came out of surgery. "Agent Romanoff, if that's okay.." he replied in a low tone, almost sheepishly.

"Certainly," Briggs nodded in return and handed Clint's chart to a nurse standing close by. Briggs moved to Clint's IV and injected the anaesthesia into the line. "We're going to do everything we can, Barton..."

Clint nodded to the doctor and willed the creeping panic to evade his consciousness.

Moments later the archer's vision was swaying and his weary eyes grew tired. He got that familiar buzzing feeling as his mind and muscles relaxed in response to the drug. The last thing he thought of before everything finally disappeared was Natasha's face, her fiery curls encircling her striking features.

* * *

"Romanoff," Natasha's voice filled Coulson's ears as she answered his call. She was flat out on her belly, reading a book on the bed when her phone erupted.

"_We need you in the infirmary_," Coulson stated, his voice direct and unwavering.

Natasha's eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. "Coulson?...What's going on?" Her heart constricted painfully, sensing what was coming next.

"_Barton's in surgery...there were some complications.."_ he paused, not feeling the need to continue.

She was already off the bed and out the door.

* * *

End of Chapter 3

Update soon!


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters._

Thanks for all the reviews and alerts!

Enjoy!

* * *

"What the hell happened?" Natasha barked at Briggs, her eyes alight with anger.

"The fracture he sustained didn't show up on the x-ray he had after ye landed," the doctor explained, hands in front of him in a calming motion. "We figured it was probably a partial break at first but as the days went on it must have worsened and grown...it was human error that we missed it," he added, his voice calm and composed. "It's amazing that Clint lasted this long with the pain...the pain must have been-"

"This would never have happened if you were doing your job right," Natasha spat, interrupting Briggs' sentence. She was trying her best to block out how much Clint had suffered silently and Briggs was not helping. She was livid that the doctors had been so careless. She was livid that Clint had hid his pain for that long.

Briggs took a step back, clearly intimidated by Natasha's countenance.

Coulson stepped up from his chair and moved between them. "Romanoff, arguing will not solve anything...and it will not help Clint heal any faster," the older agent piped up, stepping in to placate her hot-headed presence. "Take a moment, get some coffee, get your head straight...Clint wants you there when he wakes up," he added finally before exiting through the sliding doors.

Natasha kept her eyes on Briggs as he exited the waiting room with his tail between his legs.

Her heart was going a mile a minute as she fought to control her anger. She licked her lips and swallowed, trying to hydrate her dry mouth. She was utterly terrified for her partner. She knew how important archery was to Clint, how it was a part of him, like an extension of his very soul. If he lost his arm and couldn't use his bow again, he would not only lose a physical part of himself, he would lose everything. She would lose the Clint she had learned to love.

Natasha shifted her neck from side to side and rolled her shoulders forward, trying to loosen the tension that had accumulated in her muscles. She made her way to the coffee machine across the hall and ordered a cup.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

_SHIELD Infirmary, Recovery Room, 17:09pm_

* * *

Clint's sealed eyelids moved slightly as he struggled to pull himself fully from unconsciousness. He murmured something unintelligible, the sounds muffled by the oxygen mask on his face. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness in the past hour, each time inching closer to reality.

His soft intone managed to rouse Natasha from her light sleep. She raised her head from where it was resting on her arms on Clint's bed. She shook her head slightly, blinking a few times to drive away the sleepy haze. She moved her eyes to her partner's lax face. The oxygen mask was covering his mouth and nose, aiding his breathing. His shoulder and arm was heavily bandaged, gauze almost covering his whole chest and part of his neck. He was hooked up to an assortment of machines, a heart monitor and a blood pressure monitor to name a few. He had been out of surgery about two hours now.

Natasha eyed him wearily, willing him to finally come out of his deep slumber. She would never get used to seeing Clint in such a vulnerable state. She turned to see Coulson enter Clint's room with a warm greeting.

Fury had visited earlier, just when Clint was being wheeled out of the operating theatre. He left him with get well soon wishes and ordered the doctors to give him hourly updates on the archer's condition.

"How's he doing?" Coulson inquired, eyes searching for Natasha's response. He walked over to the foot of Clint's bed and braced his hands on the bar.

"Doctor said they managed to stop the bleeding and repair the damage...he'll be out of commission for a few months but we'll get him back in shape," she replied optimistically.

"Yeah, I was talking to Briggs...he told me the surgeon said the surgery was straightforward enough. Clint was lucky they spotted it in time," Coulson added.

"Briggs is lucky he spotted it in time.." she added with a warning tone.

Coulson nodded and lowered his eyes. He could understand her rage.

A moment lingered and Natasha noted Coulson's weary glare as he stared at the archer laid up in bed. "He'll be okay, Coulson, you said so yourself."

"I know that," he replied with a nod, "Clint just has a knack for getting himself in a spot of trouble...at the most unexpected times," he added with a slight shake of his head. "I don't think I'm ever gonna get used to it to be honest," he confessed.

Natasha smiled in return. She could relate.

He smiled back at the master assassin. "How are you holding up?" he inquired, looking to observe any tiredness in her expression.

"I'm fine.." she answered quickly, concealing her deep-seated fear with a short and stoic reply.

Coulson nodded slowly, detecting her concern, her efforts to conceal her feelings failing miserably. He paused for a moment, deciding not to reveal his analysis of her demeanour. "Will you let me know when he wakes up?" he spoke as he moved away from the bed and started inching towards the door.

"Will do."

The door slid open and Coulson made a swift exit.

Natasha looked back to her partner and enclosed her hand in his, feeling the soft contours of his palm caress her fingers.

* * *

Natasha heard the incoherent mumble escape Clint's lips as she indulged in a sip of her coffee. She was seated lazily in the same chair as before, her legs crossed, her hands encircling the warmth of the plastic cup.

Clint mumbled again, with a little more volume and his eyelids shuddered slightly in an effort to finally awaken.

Natasha bolted into an upright position in the chair and inched closer to Clint's stirring features. "Clint..?" she asked, hoping that he would respond to her voice. She reached for his hand and squeezed.

He squeezed back, acknowledging her touch. He twitched again and his eyelids snapped open all of a sudden. His eyes darted around the room in a flurry, looking for a threat.

He couldn't move. He couldn't form words. Fear gripped him and paralysed his limbs.

"Barton!" she spoke urgently, trying to calm his panic.

He wasn't listening to her. The beeping from his heart monitor was accelerating. She stood up and inched forward, placing her hands around Clint's face to frame his jaw. "Clint, it's me..it's Nat..." she spoke with a soothing tone.

Her comforting words coupled with her soft hands brushing his light stubble were working to settle him. Clint stilled for a moment, chest heaving painfully and he worked to focus his eyes on the figure filling his vision.

"You're fine...you're okay," she spoke again, her voice soft and soothing.

He squinted at Natasha's face as his vision sharpened, her red curls giving him his first clue. He closed his eyes again as relief overwhelmed him. "Natasha.." he rasped softly, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask. He paused for a few seconds inhaling and exhaling, trying to control his breathing and return it to a normal rhythm. He opened his eyes again and kept them locked on hers.

"Hey handsome," she replied, her delicate hands still framing his jaw.

Clint smiled weakly and blinked, attempting to drive the foggy haze of unconsciousness away.

She removed her hands but remained in his line of vision. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

"Thanks," he replied groggily with a wavering breath. He blinked again, his eyes still adjusting to the bright light and sterile surroundings.

Natasha turned and started to move towards the door to let their colleagues know that Clint was awake, but Clint's croaky voice stopped her movement. "Where you going?" he asked, reluctant to see her leave his line of vision. Her presence calmed him in ways he never thought possible.

Natasha turned back and eyed Clint's worried expression. "I'm gonna let Briggs and Coulson know you're awake," she answered, cocking her head towards the door behind her. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere, Barton," she added reassuringly.

She noticed Clint's cheeks flush a little underneath the oxygen mask as she reassured him. "I'll be back in just a sec."

Clint nodded sheepishly and allowed her to exit. He rested his head back against the pillow and swallowed. He gently fisted his left hand into a ball, thankful that his arm was still present. He felt a little discomfort in the shoulder but nothing too radical. He figured that his medicated haze had something to do with that. It was putting a damper on the pain for now. He closed his eyes in relief and counted his blessings.

* * *

End of Chapter 4

Loving your reviews and thoughts!:)


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters._

Thanks for all your lovely reviews! :)

* * *

"You hid how much pain you were in.." Natasha spoke, her voice low and unsettling.

Over an hour had passed and Clint was now sitting upright, pillows plumped at his back. A nasal cannula was now aiding his breathing and the blood pressure monitor had been removed. The pulse ox monitor remained on his middle finger, reading his rhythmic heartbeat and oxygen saturations.

The archer lowered his eyes, not wanting to see the stark worry in his partner's eyes. "It wasn't that bad.." he contended, his voice a soft murmur.

"Barton, if you lie to me one more time!" Natasha retorted, her voice hoarse with exhaustion. She continued, her mind flitting back to Briggs' words in the waiting room, "even Briggs said that the pain must have been unbearable."

Clint paused, taking in Natasha's weary glare. He knew he had screwed up. He had tried to ignore the incessant pain that had erupted in his shoulder, hoping it would amend itself. But Clint being Clint, things never ran smoothly. He flickered his eyes up to Natasha again, "I didn't want to scare you," he confessed, his voice a barely audible whisper, "to be honest, I didn't want to scare myself...I knew there was something wrong but I didn't want to believe it."

He refused to even consider the possibility that something was seriously wrong with his shoulder, that there was a risk he would never fire his bow again. He couldn't bring himself to face the music.

Natasha nodded in response, understanding his fear. She could empathise with him. Sometimes fear paralysed her in more ways than one during or after missions and assignments. "Just promise me you won't suffer in silence again, okay?" she asked, her tone stern but weary.

"I promise," he responded, noting her glistening eyes.

A light knock on the door interrupted their exchange as Coulson entered Clint's room with a warm smile. "Look who's back!" he beamed to the archer sat up in bed. Natasha slouched slightly in the chair and crossed her legs as the older agent approached.

"Yeah, well, you're not gonna get rid of me that easily," Clint replied with a smile.

"So, Doc said your shoulder should heal without any problems if the treatment goes to plan...2-3 months rehabilitation aint bad, right?" Coulson commented with a encouraging grin.

Clint nodded mutely, unperturbed by Coulson's words. Coulson eyed Clint's indifferent expression with a frown. "You're one lucky guy, Barton," he added, disbelief in the delivery, hoping to spark a response in Clint.

"Yeah I know...it just sucks that I won't be able to use my bow for that length of time.." the archer admitted with a frown.

"Hey, you'll be firing your bow in no time," Natasha piped up, hoping to cheer up his saddened state. "It's better than the alternative right?" she reasoned.

Clint had almost lost his arm, his ability to shoot his most prized possession and it had shaken her to her core. She didn't know whether it was the aftermath of Madrid or whether it was the copious amounts of time they were spending together due to their partnership, but her feelings for Clint had evolved into something more in the past few months. She tried to ignore the niggling thoughts about her partner and push on with more pressing matters.

Love was for children. She had to ignore her feelings for Clint, for her safety, for his safety. She couldn't compromise herself in battle and she refused to put him in any position that would do the same.

"Natasha?" Clint called, pulling her away from her thoughts.

"What?" she snapped, eyes focusing back to Clint.

"Coulson asked you whether you wanted food or not?" Clint answered for the older agent, who then proceeded to close his mouth when the archer stepped in and repeated his question.

Coulson narrowed his eyes at Natasha, sensing her mind was on other things. He was worried about what those other things were exactly. It was unlike her to zone out like that.

"Yeah, I'm starving actually," she admitted, rising to her feet and grabbing her jacket off the back of the chair. "Catch you later, Barton.." she said, glancing over her shoulder. She moved to head out of the room and Coulson moved to follow.

"Talk to you soon," Coulson bid his goodbye and followed Natasha's lead. Clint nodded back at the older agent as the door closed and then stretched his right arm to reach for a discarded magazine on the night stand.

Coulson jogged to catch up to Natasha as she walked briskly to the mess hall. "What's up?" he inquired, intrigued by her out-of-character behaviour moments ago.

"Nothing...why do you ask?" she shrugged in response, wondering where this conversation was going.

"Is there anything you wanna get off you chest?" Coulson asked, an eyebrow arching curiously.

Natasha stopped her movements, eyeing Coulson with a confused look. Her countenance soon contorted into a stern glare when Coulson stared intensely at her, expecting an answer. "Spit it out, Coulson.." she asked with a heated glare.

Coulson let a moment linger as he scrutinized Natasha features. She was a tough nut to crack, but his probing had struck a chord. "Have you been compromised?" he blurted out quietly, the question leaving his lips with a heavy sigh.

Natasha's eyes darkened and she cursed inwardly.

_He knows._

"No," she replied in an unwavering, threatening tone.

"Good," Coulson nodded once. "Please keep it that way," he added as he turned his body to continue their walk. Natasha kept her glare fixed on Coulson as he led the way to the cafeteria.

_You can't keep anything from the son of a bitch._

* * *

_1 week later, SHIELD Headquarters, 18:46pm_

* * *

Natasha had kept her distance from Clint in the week following Coulson's confrontation. She couldn't let her feelings for the archer descend into anything further. She avoided him as much as she could, hoping that he would be satisfied with a slight nod acknowledging his presence when they passed each other in the corridors. When she spotted Clint in the gym, she waved a restrained greeting and kept her distance, choosing the furthest punching bag away from where he was seated and began her workout. The only time she talked to Clint directly was in the presence of either Coulson or Fury regarding a possible future mission.

Of course, Clint had become acutely aware that she was avoiding him, the reason why eluding him. When he did get the chance to talk to her, he resorted to teasing and annoying questions to try and get her to open up. She remained steadfast, doing her best to ignore the incessant prodding he had accustomed himself to.

Clint approached her in the gym this evening, shoulder still encased in the sling, but bandage free. He had had enough of her distance keeping. "Did I do something to upset you?" he finally inquired, eyes narrowing.

Natasha kept her eyes on the punching bag in front and ignored his question. She landed a hard kick to the surface, the strike creating a loud booming noise that reverberated against the gym walls.

Clint glared at her and continued unapologetically, "You've been off with me ever since I had the surgery." Natasha ignored him once again, landing another ferocious welt against the bag.

Clint's growing impatience turned into growing annoyance. He was tired of the way she was acting. "What's going on up there?" he questioned, stepping forward and reaching up to brush her temple. Natasha flinched away, clearly uncomfortable with their close proximity. She glared back at him, eyes boring into him.

Clint took a step back in response to her uncharacteristic reaction and lowered his hand, eyes flashing with concern. "What's wrong with you?..Why are you being like this?" he asked warily, desperate for an answer.

He wanted the old Natasha back, the one who willingly endured his playful humour, the one who put up with their constant bickering, the one who always accompanied him to his physiotherapy appointments when she could. Her behaviour in the past week was completely off kilter and it reminded him of the time he decided to take a risk on her and make a different call. She had been distant back then, but with good reason. They had come a long way since, and this past week seemed like they had taken a momentous step back.

"I'm fine, Barton," she finally answered, breaking her tight-lipped silence. "Just some lady troubles.." she lied, trying to cover up.

Clint wasn't buying the bullshit she was selling but the look on her face sparked something inside him. He sensed it would be unwise for him to continue his interrogation. "All right," he raised his hands submissively, "understood," he added quickly, taking another step back.

He knew there was still something up but he ignored his curious thoughts and turned around to walk back towards the exit. Something told him today was not the day to probe Natasha for more information. He would let the dust settle for a while and hopefully she would come round...eventually. She had to.

"Catch you later, Romanoff," he bellowed over his shoulder just before making his exit.

A crooked smile appeared on Natasha's face as she watched Clint venture out of the gymnasium. She blinked forcefully when she felt her gaze rest on the now abandoned doorway. She decided to bury her feelings about Clint once and for all. It was for the best. She would never chance compromising herself in the field, she couldn't do that to him.

Natasha landed another unforgiving blow against the bag and drove the distracting thoughts and emotions about the archer out of her mind.

* * *

End of Chapter 5

Ohhh angsty stuff!


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters._

Here we go again!

* * *

_SHIELD Headquarters, January 2009, 09:32am_

* * *

"Agent Romanoff, Agent Barton," Fury greeted the two agents as they entered his office.

Almost three months had passed since their mission in Madrid. Natasha had kept her distance during that time in the hope of deterring her growing feelings for Clint.

Clint had also kept his distance, in respect of her wishes, but not without the occasional smart-ass comment or passing wink that he knew would bring a smile to her face.

They had been called into Fury's office this morning, a mission in mind. The two agents stiffened as Fury's voice addressed them. They nodded their responses and sat down in their seats.

"Briggs informed me you've been cleared by medical..shoulder's back in working form I see?"

"Yes, sir...no problems," Clint replied with a quick nod.

The Madrid mission had taken a lot out of Clint but he healed quickly with the help of SHIELD's rehabilitation facilities and his undying determination to get back to work. He had been itching to get out in the field after so long.

"A mission for you two," Fury tossed them both their own case files.

Pages flicked open on the desk.

"Destination: Istanbul, Turkey.." he continued, "Emre Bowen, terrorist, weapons expert, has ties with Turkish gangland activities."

"Sounds like a stand up guy," Clint commented, hoping to get a reaction from Natasha. Her face remained impassive, but Clint swore he spotted an eye roll as she lowered her head down to the file on the desk.

At least she wasn't _completely _ignoring him.

Fury continued, disregarding Clint's comment. "Sources say he's creating terrorist cells to reek havoc on the country and surrounding nations." Fury paused again to take in a breath, "We have reports saying this guy is unstable.." the Director paused again, choosing his words carefully, "..mentally."

"Those are the best kind," Clint piped up again, causing Natasha to give him a heated glare.

Fury took note of Natasha threatening countenance and he glared at the two agents as they exchanged their unsettling stares. His commanding voice cut through the tension in the room. "Take Bowen and his team out...survey his base and find out this guy's M.O." Fury continued and nodded mutely, "You know what to do."

Both Clint and Natasha nodded in response, satisfied of their goals.

"Your flight leaves at noon," Fury boomed once more, moving to settle back down in his seat.

The two agents stood up and moved to exit the office. Clint stepped to the side before he exited, allowing Natasha to pass through the door first, a condescending smile across his face. Natasha kept her eyes in front, not giving Clint the satisfaction of her attention.

* * *

"Sir?" Phil Coulson entered Fury's office with a questioning look on his face.

Fury stood up from his chair and walked towards the agent, "Coulson, I've been meaning to talk to you."

"About?" the agent asked, curiosity written across his features.

"Agent Romanoff and Agent Barton," Fury answered, eyeing Coulson with a weary expression.

"What about them?"

"Is there something I should know about?"

"Not that I know of, sir.." Coulson answered, keeping his expression blank.

"When I called them in to debrief them on the mission, you could cut the tension with a knife," Fury revealed. "It's unlike them to be so distant," he added, eyebrows furrowed.

Coulson nodded, realising what Fury was suspecting. He had deduced that Clint had not taken well to Natasha's deliberate absence in the past few weeks. "Sparring session got a bit out of hand the other night..a little playful toss around got a little rough," he lied, hoping to steer Fury away from his probing on the matter.

Fury nodded, considering Coulson's excuse. "I sincerely hope that this does not cloud their judgement...they need their heads straight to take this guy and his team down.."

"You know they are both professional enough to get the job done, Director," Coulson finished.

Fury nodded once more and turned to walk back to his desk. He trusted his agents to put the mission before whatever differences or issues they had with each other. Coulson turned to walk towards the door but Fury's voice filled his ears again.

"They know the rules better than anyone, Coulson," the Director warned, his tone icy, proving that he was still unconvinced by his colleague's words.

His warning stalled Coulson for a short moment before he exited. Three months ago he had questioned Natasha's motives regarding Clint after his surgery and he trusted her to tell him the truth. After Fury's prodding, he wasn't so sure she was being entirely honest with him.

Coulson nodded towards the blackened windows, keeping his back to Fury. He then turned the handle and made a swift exit.

* * *

_SHIELD Quinjet, 15:40pm_

* * *

Natasha blinked up from her book when she felt her eyelids droop slightly. The humming vibrations of the aircraft were slowly lulling her to sleep. She glanced over her shoulder when she heard a soft noise coming from the body behind her. Her eyes settled on Clint's slouched form in the chair, his feet propped on the pile of duffel bags on the jet's floor. His steady breathing, audible to her ears, suggested that he was sleeping deeply. She narrowed her eyes to scan his features. His head had lolled to the side, his ear almost touching his left shoulder.

As if he knew that Natasha had her eyes planted on him, Clint flinched involuntarily when a wisp of hair flopped down to brush his forehead lightly. His nose wrinkled in response to the tickling feeling and he reached up a hand to scratch at it absently, waving the piece of hair away.

Natasha smiled faintly as she observed his instinctive movements. It was refreshing sight to watch Clint as he shifted childishly while dreaming.

She had missed him. She missed spending time with him. She missed his inappropriate teasing and their late night sparring matches when no one else was around. She missed their midnight chats in one of his nests when they would talk about previous missions and old enemies.

Clint willingly allowed her to spend time with him in his nest and she knew that it had been a big step for him in the progression of their partnership and friendship. As far as she knew, she was the only one allowed into his nests and she appreciated the gesture of trust when he invited her in. They were his safe havens, somewhere he could go to unwind, to take a breath, to rest in private. He started to build them as soon as he came to SHIELD, she had learned shortly after they became partners.

Her longing for Clint only made her decision to distance them all the more difficult. She knew that he was finding it hard to adjust to her standoffish behaviour but he had adapted and pressed on, although not without the occasional nudge or wink to garner her attention.

Natasha coughed softly when her throat tickled in response to her wandering thoughts. She flickered her eyes back to her book and settled into her seat as she engrossed herself in another chapter.

* * *

The door to the safe house opened slowly and Clint and Natasha were immediately enveloped by the grungy atmosphere that was housed inside. It felt like the door hadn't been opened in years.

Clint lowered his hand from the scanner and stepped inside, Natasha following.

Neither commented on the house's appearance, which was unusual, as it had become tradition for one of them to make a sarcastic remark or pay a surprised compliment when they first entered a safe house.

"I'll set up our data and let SHIELD know we got here in one piece," Clint announced as he moved towards the bedroom, his bag still on his back.

Natasha nodded to her partner and moved to set her bag on the floor. She sauntered through the safe house, familiarising herself with the layout. It was small, slightly unkempt, but sufficient. It would hold them up fine for the mission.

"You wanna get stuck into business?" Clint called out as he exited the bedroom.

"Sure," she answered, moving towards the kitchen table and grabbing her rucksack from the floor. She pulled out her laptop, set it on the table and lifted the lid. Clint pulled out a map and a few markers from his own bag. He splayed the folded paper on top of the table, put a marker in his mouth and pulled on the end of it, leaving the lid pressed between his lips. Natasha dragged her eyes away from his face and settled her sight on her laptop as it flickered to life.

They set about planning their surveillance time, exit strategies and possible assassination scenarios. Both of them would have to breach Bowen's base to take him and his team out.

* * *

Almost three hours had passed and the kitchen table was now littered with crisp packets and cups of coffee.

"I think the roof is a better route..we have optimal range and if we move fast we can stay hidden. We can gain leverage over his team as we ascend down," Clint suggested, leaning causally back into his chair.

"I think going in quiet, low and unnoticed is better...surprise attack on the ground, they won't know what hit them," Natasha argued, folding her arms.

"We'd be exposed going in through that door." He pointed to the map of Bowen's base.

"And we wouldn't going in through the roof? How do you know they haven't cased it?" She unfolded one arm and flicked it into the air demonstratively.

"How do you know they don't have someone waiting on the other side of that door?" Clint argued back, growing impatient with the fruitless argument.

Tension filled the air as the two agents put forward their arguments on the debate. Clint leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at Natasha. "Do you trust me?"

Natasha paused for a moment, taking in Clint's question and his unwavering tone. "Clint-"

"Natasha," he stated directly, voice serious, "do you trust me enough to get us in and out?"

Natasha didn't doubt his integrity but she felt like she was in the right, suggesting the side door to access the building. "Clint-I-" she hesitated, blinking.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," he interrupted, moving to stand up from his seat and walk towards the glass window.

Natasha moved off her seat and braced her hands against the table. "Clint this isn't a matter of who trusts who...this is a matter of getting in, getting the job done and getting out," she huffed for a moment, letting the tension in her neck dissipate, "we need a subtle entrance, we need a clear line of sight.."

"My clear line of sight," Clint added, keeping his keen eyes fixed on the flickering lights outside.

Natasha exhaled audibly again, realising she was losing this debate. He was right. He had the talent and the skill to do the job and do it well. He wasn't named Hawkeye for nothing. "Okay," she surrendered, hands up in the air, "but you case the rooftop and make sure that there are no surprises in store for us."

She didn't want to go through seeing Clint's contorted expression after another fall. Not after their ordeal in Madrid.

"Do you really have to ask me that?" Clint countered, turning his body towards her.

Natasha looked down, surprised by his accusatory tone. They were getting no where, arguing like this. She removed her hands from the table and stood back, glancing up at him and letting her gaze rest on his rigid figure.

A moment lingered as they studied one another, only their breathing audible in the darkened room.

"I'm exhausted, I'm gonna hit the sack." Natasha stretched her arms over her head and let a faint yawn escape her lips.

Clint kept his gaze fixed on her as she stretched her tired muscles. "Fine.." he replied, not moving from where he was positioned.

"You're not tired?" she inquired, mentally cursing at how much concern filtered into her delivery.

"I had enough sleep on the flight..." he made the excuse, shrugging off her question. His mind was racing at the moment and he knew that he wouldn't get a wink if he tried to get some rest now.

"Fine...suit yourself."

Clint kept his eyes on her as she ventured from her seat to the bedroom. Only when she closed the door did he turn his body towards the window again. He resumed his scanning of the twinkling lights in the distance and wondered would things ever be the same between them again.

* * *

End of Chapter 6

Please excuse the delay!I'm having a busy weekend!

I'd love to hear your thoughts..!


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters._

Thank you so much for the reviews!They really brighten up my day! :)

Enjoy!

* * *

_Istanbul, Turkey, 20:46pm_

* * *

Natasha had her back pressed against the alleyway wall, one knee bent, her sole flat against it's surface. "Clint, please..."

She had been forced to listen to her partner hum his rendition of "Starlight" by Muse in her ear for the past two hours now.

They had been surveilling Bowen's base over the past few days and tonight was the night they had planned to breach and take out the Turk and his team.

Clint was in his favoured position, perched on the top of a building with a bird's eye view into Bowen's base. He had managed to snag the perfect spot, eyes planted on Bowen's building that housed him and his team. He was humming one of his favourite tunes when he finally heard Natasha break her silence.

"_Ah, you're still alive_!" he joked playfully, wishing he could see the smile he imagined appearing on her face.

"Clint, stop with the humming.." she begged, inching desperation in her voice.

_"All you had to do was ask,"_ he joked again.

He was mindful of her deliberate silence over the comm and used his humming to break the ice. She obviously had not been in the mood to converse this evening. Or any evening for that matter.

"Any movement up there?" she inquired, hoping that they would get the mission over and done with soon.

_"No, nothing yet.." _Clint kept his eyes fixed on the guards that were planted on each corner of the Bowen's rooftop. They were all armed and scanning their eyes intently around their quarters. Clint was so well hidden they never caught sight of him cloaked in darkness.

Natasha murmured a response that Clint didn't quite get. He knew she was growing tedious and with that thought in his mind, he decided to occupy her with a little banter.

_"So, Nat..tell me who has got your knickers in such a twist these past few months?_"

Natasha clenched her jaw, growing uneasy as to where he was going with this conversation. "Clint, can we not discuss this right now?"

_"Is it Blake?"_

"Don't you think we have more pressing matters to deal with at the moment?"

_"Sitwell?"_

"Clint-"

_"It's Fury isn't it?"_

"Hawkeye!" Natasha roared impatiently, unable to tolerate his annoying rejoinders.

_"Sshh-"_ his soft intone buzzed into her ear.

"What?..what is it?" she moved her hand up to the comm, ears alert.

_"Movement on rooftop...Bowen's guards are moving towards the exit."_

"Any sign of Bowen yet?"

_"No, nothing...they seem-"_ he paused, searching for the most suited words to describe the sight, _"-flustered."_

That caused her to stop her movement, her eyes narrowing with apprehension._ Why would they be flustered? Had they given their positions away?_

"Hawkeye, what's going on?"

Clint lifted his head a little more to get a good look at their movements. "They're entering the building...Widow, I think you should move," he suggested into the comm.

_"Already on it.._" he heard her respond into the comm.

Natasha was making her way through the maze of streets as she ventured closer to Clint's position.

"They know something.." Clint added, panic slowly invading his thoughts. He spied one of the guards pointing down towards the street where Natasha had been positioned. "Widow, I think you're blown.." he deduced with a serious tone. Clint could hear her quickening breath as she moved to conceal herself in the shadows. When silence greeted him he spoke into the comm again, "Widow?"

_"Meet you back at the safe house.."_ she answered quickly as she tried to catch her breath.

"Affirmative." Clint collapsed his bow and started to run towards the rooftop exit. Moments later he heard scuffling invade the silence of his comm. "Widow?"

_"Clint-"_ her urgent voice cut off mid sentence.

"Natasha?" he roared into the comm, his voice a panicked mess.

Something was wrong.

_"I'm being pursued.."_ she replied, her voice taut and serious.

An uncomfortable hue settled over Clint and he bolted for the fire escape. When he reached ground level he moved silently, his back to the wall, and scanned his eyes through the alleyways hoping to find his partner. "Widow, location?"

_"I'm coming up north east..two SUVs are following me.."_

"Nat, hold on..I'm coming.." Clint sprinted ahead and he willed himself to keep focused. Fear for his partner was clouding his mind and the more he ran towards her, the more his anxiety worsened.

Another burst of commotion entered his earpiece again as Clint turned a corner to spot Natasha tackling a hoard of men at the end of an alleyway. Clint nocked an arrow and loosened it as he hurtled himself towards the figures in the brawl.

His eyes flew to Natasha as she stiffened suddenly and then crashed to the floor, body convulsing as she was tasered by one of the men. Clint advanced towards her but was tackled by another guy and wrestled to the ground. Anger flooded his consciousness as he watched Natasha's eyelids dip. She was dragged by one of the men into the SUV, weakened and helpless.

Clint had been distracted enough to have his temple clocked by one of the guards. His vision blacked out for a moment and he fought to keep his focus. The man swung again, catching Clint in the ribs, knocking the wind out of him. He moved off the archer and retreated back to the SUV Natasha had been taken in.

Clint crawled to his knees and blinked, trying to hold onto whatever remnants of consciousness he had left. He mustered up the strength to the press the code into his bow and fire an arrow towards the SUV. It latched onto the bumper of the vehicle as it drove off in the distance. He felt himself lose his footing from underneath him as his mind grew fuzzy and his vision blurred again. His head hit the pavement and he was swallowed by the night.

* * *

A sensation of wet sandpaper rubbing against his hand brought Clint out from his nap induced haze. He opened his eyes to spy an alley cat licking his unmoving hand. The animal rubbed it's fur against the fabric on Clint's hip as he stirred awake. He flinched into an upright position and the cat scurried off with a whine.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and pieced his last lucid thoughts together as best he could. His mind flit through the fuzziness and he remembered Natasha being tasered and captured by Bowen's men. He remembered the arrow he had shot at one of the SUVs. It would be tracking her whereabouts. He pulled his quiver from his back and reached into it, taking out the small digital tracking device. A red dot was bleeping on the radar. It was unmoving, suggesting the vehicle had been parked.

Clint bolted up from the ground, his ribs aching in protest, and picked up his bow. He weighed it in his cold hands, reassuring him a little. He could find Natasha. He just hoped that she would be in the same place that the SUV had been parked. His stomach flipped sickeningly when he thought of the shape she was in-he had to get to her fast.

Adrenaline surged through his veins and he took off down the alleyway and moved onto a side street, following the red dot on the tracker.

* * *

End of Chapter 7

Ohh we're getting into the thick of it now...


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters._

Sorry about the delay again guys! I was faced with some unprecedented loss of internet over the past few days! Hope this chapter makes up for my absence!

Enjoy!

* * *

Clint meandered his way through the streets of Istanbul as he followed the red dot on the tracker. He came upon a seemingly abandoned warehouse and spotted the two black SUVs parked outside, one with his arrow still embedded in the bumper.

_Bingo._

He moved swiftly to the side of the building and pressed his back against the wall. He scanned his eyes around the area, searching for some sort of entrance. He kept moving along the wall but halted when he spotted movement up ahead. A guard, his back to him, was standing in front of a side entrance door, safeguarding it's contents inside, Clint assumed.

He pounced on the unsuspecting man and a second later an arrow was sprouting from his chest. Clint stiffened suddenly when he heard a weak whimpering noise coming from the other side of the door. His eyes flew to a dimly illuminated window just above his head, to the right of the door. He jumped to latch onto the window's small ledge, using discarded crates to boost himself up to the barred window. He narrowed his eyes curiously as he peered in through it.

Relief swelled in his heart when his eyes focused in on his partner's familiar features. Dread and panic filled his heart a second later. Natasha was alone in the room, sitting in a wooden chair, her wrists bound behind her back by tightly wound ropes. Both her ankles received the same treatment, tied tightly to the legs of the chair.

Clint scanned her facial features, a deep cut above her eyebrow being the first thing he noticed. A stream of blood leaked down over her temple and cheek, slowly dripping off her jaw. He could see bruising beginning to sprout over her eyebrow. Next, he took in her lower lip, cut and swollen. She was also sporting a bruised left cheek, the purple blotch blossoming over her pale and puffing skin.

He held a breath when his eyes caught her subtle movements as she licked absently at the coppery liquid that stained her lips. Anger flared through his veins and he clenched his hand that encircled his bow, his knuckles whitening at the movement.

He had to get her out of there.

Clint silently jumped down off the crates and his eyes flew to the side door, it's outline illuminated by the light coming from the other side. He looked around to check and see if the coast was clear, adjusting his ears and eyes to take in any approaching figures in the darkness. He turned the handle and a thought flitted across his mind.

_That was almost too easy._

He ignored his suspicions and entered the room, bolting towards Natasha's unmoving form. His heart beat wildly in his chest, conveying his fear and desperation for his partner. "Nat?"

No response.

He reached for her neck and placed two fingers on her pulse point. It was weak and thready. Natasha's head lolled to the side as Clint removed his fingers and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Nat?...C'mon, Nat, wake up for me!" Clint shook her slightly, trying his best to rouse her but avoid inflicting more pain on her battered flesh. "Hey, remember what you said to me in Munich, Nat?..when Dixon's crew got us? "No sleeping on the job," do you remember?!" he imitated her voice that he heard when they had been interrogated by the crazed Russian.

Natasha murmured a weak response and Clint inched closer to her face to try and make out her mumbles.

"Natasha?" He released his grip from her shoulders and moved quickly to try and undo her tightly wound restraints. He reached for the knife in his belt and unsheathed it. He then moved his hands to her ankles to try and relieve her of her bounds.

"Clin-" Natasha slurred, trying to pull herself back to reality. He had come. Clint had come to save her. Seeing his face made every horror melt away.

"Hey, I'm gonna get you out of here.." he soothed, willing her to hold on and stay with him.

"Clint-" her voice upped it's volume as she fought to remain consciousness. Saying his name brought her unimaginable relief. She closed her eyes in disbelief at the sight of his presence here with her.

Clint lifted his head and noticed her eyelids droop a little causing his heart to race a whole lot faster as he felt her fade. "Nat, let me see those beautiful emerald eyes of yours.." Clint spoke as he reached up to touch her jaw softly, "you know how much I love to see those eyes."

A smile ghosted Natasha's face as her mind flit back to their very first meeting. It was one of the first things Clint ever said to her, _"Let me see your eyes." _Her thoughts wandered aimlessly in her mind and she worked to open her sluggish eyelids a little more.

"There we go," he encouraged as he watched her force them open. "Stay with me, okay?" he whispered softly, a desperate prayer on his lips.

Natasha nodded weakly and she pinned her focus on his face. She took in the bruises that purpled his weary features. She felt herself drifting off again as her gaze rested lazily on Clint's sweaty forehead. Everything drained, she couldn't even find the energy to talk to him, to tell him what she felt about him, to tell him what she had been bottling up for months now.

She opened her mouth to speak but her words were never heard as a deafening noise assaulted the air.

Clint's keen senses we're bombarded by movements from behind him and he turned to see a man stalking wildly towards him brandishing a taser. He twisted out of the way, an explosion of commotion erupting in the room as he nocked an arrow and let it fly. It hit it's destination and he hastily looked around and tried to gauge how many men had now entered the small room. Adrenaline surging, he loosened the next arrow and let it fly into another guard's neck. More men spilled into the room and Clint knew he would be soon overwhelmed if he didn't act fast.

Reaching for another arrow from his quiver, he nocked it fluidly and loosened it at another man stalking forward. It flew true and the man flinched as the arrow buried itself deep in his chest. The sound of gunshots suddenly erupted in the room next and Clint felt his heart constrict painfully as he thought of Natasha and her vulnerable position in the chair.

He didn't think. He acted on instinct and dove in front of her, instantly feeling the searing pain as hot lead ripped through his side.

Clint heard Natasha's faint wail as he scrambled to his feet, ignoring the unrelenting pain that was now travelling through his abdomen and down his back. He never got the chance to let his newly nocked arrow fly as electricity gripped him and he fell bonelessly to the ground. His vision tilted dangerously and he felt the familiar but unsettling feeling of the hard ground at the back of his skull.

The last thing he saw before darkness engulfed him was Natasha, bloody rivulets streaming down her face, her teeth bared as she struggled fruitlessly against her restraints.

* * *

End of Chapter 8

What are our master assassins to do now?

Next chapter coming tomorrow!


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters._

_**Warning**:_ There are some insinuations of rape in this chapter.

Thanks for the lovely reviews!

* * *

Consciousness quickly swam back to Clint when an unmerciful punch caused his head to snap to the side suddenly. He coughed forcefully and blinked, trying to get his wavering vision to correct itself. His eyes settled on the familiar face seated across from him.

_Natasha._

Her eyes bore into his own, causing his heart to sink to his boots. He had failed to rescue her. He had screwed up and got them both captured.

Fear etched across her features as she stared at him. That was the face that haunted Clint when he dreamt about missions that had gone awry, missions that they had endured together and survived. He hoped that this would be another one to add to their list.

Pain flared in his left side as he shifted against his restraints to get a look at his bullet wound. He took in the blood that had stained the material of his vest and the floor beneath him. He bit back against the throbbing pain and allowed a crooked smile to appear on his face as he attempted to calm his partner's creeping panic.

Clint flickered his eyes around the room and took in what he could see. There were three men surrounding him and Natasha, one leaning against the wall with what looked like a toothpick in his mouth, one in the centre, standing between him and Natasha, and one to his right side. Clint guessed he was one who had rudely awoken him.

The archer strained his neck to get a better look at Natasha whose face was now blocked by the middle man's lanky figure. Clint's breathing quickened involuntarily when he caught sight of her eyes. They were open but barely any light encapsulated them.

She was losing hope. She was losing the will to fight.

The man who was stood in front of Natasha with his back to Clint spoke up, his thickly accented voice blunt and unsettling, "Who are you working for?"

Natasha mumbled an inarticulate response and the man backhanded her mercilessly, causing her head to snap to the side with an audible smack. Clint clenched his fists as anger flared through him.

Natasha let her head fall back down to rest against her chest and she blinked sluggishly, trying to keep herself awake.

Clint bet that her efforts to stay conscious were hindered by the nasty concussion she had sustained. The man turned around to face Clint, a devilish smirk across his lips. Clint recognised this man as Emre Bowen. The bastard had gotten the jump on both of them.

The other man who had rudely awoken Clint, extended his arm once again, catching Clint's jaw for the second time. Clint shook his head in response, trying to re-arrange his muddled thoughts that were rocking his brain.

"Well, haven't we found ourselves the jackpot?" Bowen laughed, his voice laced with unsettling humour, "Who sent you here?" he asked, his voice accenting every syllable. Clint spit out a bloody glob in response and eyed the man with a threatening glare.

Bowen nodded and lifted his right hand, waving two fingers at one of his men. "Bring it in," the Turk ordered as he kept his steely glare on Clint. The man left the room and returned a moment later with a worn duffel bag encased in his grip.

Clint froze in confusion, keeping his eyes pinned on the bag of goodies. Time for the usual interrogation, he guessed. Bowen reached into the bag and rummaged around for his weapon of choice.

One of Bowen's men, a toothpick settled between his lips, stepped forward and ripped Clint's vest and t-shirt open, exposing his abdomen and chest to the cool air in the warehouse.

Clint took that as he cue to start taunting their captors, something he had accustomed himself to over the years. He opened his mouth to start the ball rolling but never got the chance to retaliate. His senses were assaulted by the sudden electric shock that emitted from the voltage prod that Bowen had produced from the bag. Clint's bloody bullet wound jarred painfully as his muscles convulsed violently.

Natasha winced as she watched Clint's body arch up involuntarily, his muscles quaking under the electroshocks. "Stop!" she roared, her voice interjecting her partner's pained grunts.

Bowen withdrew the prod from Clint's exposed flesh and the archer slumped, weak as a kitten, into his chair. Clint closed his eyes to concentrate on controlling his breathing.

"Come again?" Bowen asked, curiosity written all over his face.

"I said stop.." she warned again, keeping her threatening countenance pinned on the Turk.

Bowen placed the prod on Clint's exposed chest once again, ignoring her threat. Eyes wide, Clint clenched his teeth again, muscles straining and twisting against the rippling electricity as it coursed through his body. He gasped for air, trying desperately to get oxygen into his starved lungs.

Natasha spoke up again in response to Bowen's assault on her partner, "Leave him alone and I'll tell you what you want to know.." she ground out, her volume raised with growing desperation.

Bowen removed the prod and Clint slumped down again, sinking into the chair, a welcomed respite. He fought more vigorously this time to control his increasingly erratic breathing.

Bowen smiled a knowing smile at Natasha and cocked his head towards Clint, "He failed to save you..and now, you want to save him?"

Natasha maintained her eye contact with Bowen, confirming his query.

Clint tried to mumbled a response to Natasha's telling silence, but it failed to reach both their ears. Muscles spasms began to travel through his body as he tried to shift his position in the chair. Sweat covered every inch of visible flesh.

Bowen nodded slowly, realising the situation had changed and deducing that one of his prisoners had different motives on her mind-she loved this man. "Does he feel the same?" the Turk asked, keeping his eyes focused on Natasha's features, trying to detect any obvious confirmation.

Natasha stilled, inwardly cursing that Bowen had discovered her feelings for the archer.

"Let's find out shall we?" Bowen replaced the prod onto Clint's chest and kept it there for a longer duration than the previous times. The longer the duration, the higher the voltage, the more horrific the pain.

Natasha blinked the tears out of her eyes as she watched Clint arch up again in response to the newly introduced voltage. His body screamed in protest, willing the relentless agony to stop. He couldn't hold back the ear-splitting screech that escaped his lips as his muscles convulsed involuntarily in the chair.

Natasha knew he couldn't hold on much more. Clint was going to die if she didn't do something.

Bowen stopped his assault and placed his face in front of Clint's. "Quite a girl you have here, kid...it'd be a pity if anything was to happen to her, am I right?" The Turk moved forward and gripped Clint's hair roughly, awakening him from his pained haze.

Bowen reached for the knife that was fitted on his belt and removed it with an agile motion. He released his fist from Clint's hair and kept his eyes on the blade as he turned around and stalked towards Natasha, eyes emanating with an carnal hint.

Natasha maintained her focus on Clint, not daring to give the Turk another shred of her attention. She watched as Clint's head lolled forward in defeat, unable to lift it up any more.

Bowen brought the blade up, preparing to strike, but stopped for a moment, a passing thought entering his mind. He lowered the knife and stepped back, taking in Clint's hooded glare. "Leave us," he ordered to his men. The two henchmen left, although not without giving Clint unsettling smirks, like they knew what was going to happen next.

The archer blinked nervously and a lump formed in his throat when the door closed with a echoing bang.

Bowen stepped towards Clint again and spoke, "I'm trying to think, archer, what would be more painful for you...seeing your woman bleed and flinch under my blade," Bowen raised the blade demonstratively in front of Clint's face, "or seeing your woman writhe under my touch?"

Clint's eyes widened at the sick insinuation. Dread filled every inch of his body and his heart began to hammer wildly against his ribcage.

_He wouldn't._

The man smirked wickedly with an _"Oh, I would_" expression and turned back to Natasha. He approached her slowly, dragging out the torment of his two prisoners.

Clint strained desperately against the ropes in a fruitless effort to undo them. His panicked eyes flew to a helpless Natasha. She was motionless, still staring intently at Clint, not giving the slightest bit of notice to their captor. It seemed like she didn't hear their captor's sick threat.

"Don't you dare.." Clint ground out, his breathing still erratic with exertion.

Bowen continued to step towards her, ignoring the archer's threat.

"Son of a bitch!" Clint yelled, bucking up against his restraints, willing anything, anybody to stop this.

Bowen continued to stalk forward, coming to a halt in front of his prisoner. He replaced the knife back on his belt.

"If you do this...I will kill you, do you hear? I will fucking end you!" Clint roared, his voice hoarse and pained.

Natasha maintained her detached look but closed her eyes in an effort to block out the Turk's evil grin. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of letting him feel in control of her, able to feel her overwhelming fear. That is exactly what he wanted-her succumbing to his taunts and Clint panicking and losing his temper.

Bowen reached for the zip on her catsuit and pulled it down lazily, revealing Natasha's black bra underneath. She turned her head away in disgust as the Turk leaned down to inhale her scented skin. Nostrils flaring, he dragged his eyes over her flesh and a menacing grin appeared on his face. He inched forward towards her exposed neck.

Clint bit back a strangled groan as he strained wildly against his restraints once again. His fruitless attempts to unleash himself only made Bowen laugh and sneer at his panicked state. Natasha kept her eyes closed and fought to keep her mind focused on anything other than what was happening to her.

Bowen nuzzled her neck, kissing the flesh there and let his hands roam over her slender figure.

Clint couldn't take any more. He couldn't bear watching Natasha endure any more of Bowen's advances. He reduced to begging. "Stop it, please," he finally pleaded, his voice bleeding with desperation and defeat.

Bowen stiffened, his breath hot against Natasha's exposed neck and chest, "I guess we found our answer," he whispered, his voice breathy with lust.

Natasha ignored him, shifting her eyes away in disgust.

Bowen moved one of his hands down towards her breasts and Natasha instinctively angled herself away from his touch. When Bowen felt her lean away he tutted condescendingly, "Do you want to see your boyfriend light up like a Christmas tree again?"

Natasha snapped her head towards her captor and smirked suddenly, "No, but I'd love to see you bleed like a stuck pig," she responded, a feral look in her eye. With a snap of ropes, she swiped forward, catching Bowen across the neck with her hidden blade-the same blade that Clint had tried to release her with before he had been subdued.

Crimson fluid spilled unceremoniously down Bowen's neck and chest and a strangled gurgle was all he could manage as he sank to his knees. He stilled as the lifeblood drained out of him.

Bleed like a stuck pig, he did.

With utter shock plastered across his face, Clint blinked at his partner as she undid the restraints at her ankles.

Breathing heavily, Natasha stood up, zipped up her catsuit and moved quickly over to Clint. "You okay?" she inquired as started on the restraints bounding his wrists, slicing quickly through the ropes. She fought to keep her hands steady as she started on the bounds around his ankles.

"Am I okay?" Clint asked disbelievingly, still reeling from what had happened in the last few moments. The ropes fell to the floor around his feet and he stood straight up, ignoring the stinging pain in his side as he rose. He impulsively wrapped his arms around Natasha's waist, needing to know that she was here with him, still breathing, still alive.

She stiffened for a second as Clint's arms encircled her and then reciprocated, wrapping her arms around his neck and back, pulling him closer.

Clint released her after a moment and stepped back, absently rubbing the nape of his neck that Natasha had touched when they embraced. "Nat, I'm sorry," he blurted out, voice laced with sorrow and shame. He was sorry that he couldn't save her, that he couldn't stop Bowen from touching her, from violating her. He expected some sort of a rebuttal from her but instead was greeted by a disturbingly vacant look on her face. "Natasha?" he asked, concern invading his every thought.

Her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell forward, knees buckling from under her.

Without hesitation, Clint stepped forward and scooped her up into his arms. Adrenaline spent, her body had been running on fumes and exhaustion now overtook her.

Clint examined her, eyes scanning for any hidden injuries. His hand moved over her face, gingerly removing the fiery curls that had fallen over her closed eyes. He shifted her in his arms, trying get her in a more comfortable position. He flickered his eyes around and his heart leapt as he spotted his quiver and collapsed bow in the corner of the room. He shifted Natasha again carefully, pressing her into his chest as he bent down and picked up the weapons, slinging them over his shoulder.

At least _something_ had gone their way this evening.

He rose slowly, steadying himself as he did. The bullet wound was now screaming in protest at even the smallest movement. Ignoring the burning pain, Clint stalked swiftly to the door he had entered through and pressed his ear against it, trying to detect any movement from outside. Nothing apparent caught his ears and he turned the handle, carefully, willing it's hinges to stay silent as they made their exit.

Clint ran like a man possessed. He bolted in the darkness, Natasha's head bobbing slightly against his shoulder as he moved swiftly through the streets towards their safe house.

* * *

End of Chapter 9

Muhahahaha! You guys are gonna hate me for leaving it there but I hope you enjoyed the chapter! :)


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters._

Thanks for the reviews and alerts! You guys are the best!

Angst and whump galore in this one so be prepared!

* * *

Siren's wailed in the distance as Clint scrambled towards the safe house, Natasha's limp body still in his grip. He shifted her slightly against his chest to allow his thumb to press against the scanner.

She murmured something unintelligible and Clint soothed her faint mutters as he entered the building. He moved swiftly toward the bedroom, depositing his quiver and bow on the kitchen floor, and gently lay Natasha on her cot. "Nat.." Clint started, kneeling beside the bed, hoping to wake her and asses her injuries. She was unresponsive so Clint patted her cheek gently, trying to pull her from her slumber. "Nat, c'mon you need to wake up for me..."

Still nothing.

Clint rose up from the floor and searched for the safe house phone. He dialled the appropriate numbers and spoke into the device as the call connected. "This is Agent Barton, requesting immediate medevac from Istanbul safe house."

Coulson's voice suddenly interjected the line, _"Barton? What the hell happened?"_

"Bowen's men ambushed Natasha and knocked me out before I could get to her-" Clint blew out, trying to get all the information he had out in one breath,"-I found her but they got the jump on me and-" Clint paused again and swallowed, biting back the aching pain in his side. Adrenaline was wearing off and he had to pause to take in another breath as the pain radiated all over his midsection. It was almost becoming unbearable.

_"Hey, Barton, slow down...just take it easy,"_ Coulson suggested, noting Clint's erratic breathing on the other end of the line.

Clint fought to remain composed, blowing out another shaky breath, "Emre Bowen's dead...Natasha's got a nasty concussion...she's unresponsive, pulse is weak and thready.." his voice trailed off as he moved back to the bedroom to spy his partner, still unconscious on the cot. He narrowed his eyes at her chest, noting the shallow rise and fall.

_"Okay, just keep her comfortable until we get there...how about yourself? Injuries?"_

Clint blinked heavily and moved towards one of the cupboards in the kitchen. He pressed a hand to his bloody side, willing the pain to ebb. "Listen, Coulson, we need to get out of here.." Clint blew out, ignoring Coulson's question. He reached for the first aid kit from where it was sat in the cupboard.

_"Our teams are already on their way, Barton,"_ Coulson soothed, his voice calm and direct, _"ETA less than thirty minutes."_

Clint let his eyes slide close in relief at Coulson's words.

When no immediate response greeted Coulson's ears, the older agent spoke up again, creeping fear evident in his voice, _"Clint, you still with me?"_

Clint cleared his throat and responded, "Yeah, I'm here.."

_"You need to tell me what injuries you have..I'm guessing Bowen and his men didn't let you escape without a farewell gift."_

Clint let a weak chuckle escape his lips as he moved gingerly to the bathroom with the first aid kit. "Electroshock.."

Coulson bit his lip, repulsed by the thoughts of Clint's torture._ "Anything else?"_

"Got shot.."

_"Where?"_ Coulson sighed, clear concern in his query.

Clint peered down at the wound, the red liquid still leaking steadily from it's source. Blood had coagulated and encrusted the material of his t-shirt surrounding the wound. He pulled his shredded t-shirt carefully over his head to get a better look at the injury. "Bullet wound to the left side, I don't think it nicked anything...a few pints loss I'd say." He deduced that much from the sight he took in at the warehouse and from the bloody mess of his ripped t-shirt. "Bullet's still in there though."

_"Have you taken care of that yet?"_

"No, I was just about to.." Clint sat down on the closed toilet seat and reached for the first aid kit, pulling out a thick pad of gauze. He pressed it against the wound, trying to staunch the steady flow.

_"Clint, wait until the medics arrive, they'll take care of it."_

"If you say so.." Clint responded softly, blinking heavily again as the last of his adrenaline dissipated.

Coulson heard the archer respond with a slurring quality to his voice, making his heart jolt slightly. _"Clint, you need to stay awake and keep an eye on Natasha...try and wake her up if you can."_

Clint nodded and reached for a wash cloth that lay over the sink bowl. He turned the water on and ran the cool liquid over the damp cloth. He then placed it on his shoulder, letting the two ends hang loosely over his muscled arch. He lifted himself carefully off the toilet seat, tucking the phone under his chin and keeping his hand against the gauze at his side. He latched onto the first aid kit before venturing into the bedroom, the movement causing pained ripples to spread through his abdomen. He stifled a groan as he placed the first aid kit on the floor and knelt down beside Natasha's cot, mindful of his wound as he lowered himself.

"Nat?" Clint called her name again, increasing his volume, "Natasha? C'mon, no more sleeping." He removed the wash cloth from his shoulder and placed it on the bed beside her head. He then shook her arm in a futile attempt to wake her, "Coulson's on the phone, he wants to speak to you," he waved the phone in his hand demonstratively but still received no response from his partner.

He lowered the phone onto the bed and picked up the damp wash cloth, studying her bruised appearance before he started. Dried blood caked the left side of her face, the trail coming from the deep cut above her eyebrow. He placed the cool compress against the deep laceration and began to wipe away the congealed crimson.

Natasha shifted suddenly in response to his touch, her body going rigid as she stilled, fear paralysing her every muscle. She bolted upwards and struggled wildly against the suffocating presence in front of her.

_Bowen._

He had her at his mercy and she writhed against his embrace. She was still in the damned warehouse, still bound by the ropes. She couldn't fight him off, she couldn't defend herself.

_"Does he feel the same?" _She heard her captor's taunts echo through her mind.

_"I guess we found our answer." _He taunted her again and flashes of Clint's convulsing body began assaulting her confused mind. She bucked up against the bed and struck out, catching something solid in front of her.

"NATASHA!"

She stiffened suddenly as Clint's voice finally cut through her panicked haze. Bowen's face disappeared and now Clint's face had come into focus.

She looked down at her blood infused fist and her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She was in their safe house. She was free from Bowen's grip.

Her eyes flit to her partner and she stiffened in fear, taking in his contorted expression. Clint was bare-chested, half laying, half sitting on the floor beside her cot, his hands pressed tightly to his side, exhaustion clearly overwhelming him. There was a mess of blood across his abdomen, all over his hands, and it was beginning to decorate the floor beneath him.

"Clint?" she asked worriedly as she scrambled off the cot and approached his clenched up figure. His face was pale and clammy.

"Nat.." he breathed out with a relieved sigh. He was fighting to control his breathing, blowing pained rasps against pursed lips.

"I'm so sorry...I thought-I thought you were Bowen.." she admitted with a regretful look.

"Hey, he's gone..he's dead..you killed him yourself," Clint ground out, stifling a groan as he shifted on the floor.

It was obvious to Natasha that he was fighting a losing battle to remain conscious. "I know-I just-" she hesitated, not wanting to relive the nightmare she had just endured. She flickered her eyes to Clint's side and felt a pang of guilt shoot through her. His bullet wound was now oozing freely, fresh blood staining the waistband of his trousers. She moved forward, without a second thought, and pressed her hands over Clint's own, putting that extra bit of pressure on the wound in an effort to staunch the flow.

Clint's body shuddered at the new contact. He gritted his teeth against the added pressure and instinctively tried to pull away, but then stopped, realising it was for his own good.

_"Barton!"_ the voice rung out of the discarded phone forgotten on the ground.

Natasha could hear Coulson's voice roaring through the phone, clearly willing someone to answer his frantic yells. She figured he must have been shouting for a lot longer than what reached her ears, with the sheer desperation in his bellows. She stretched for the phone, still keeping one hand on Clint's wound. She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder and kept her focus on Clint's pain ridden face. "Coulson, it's Natasha.."

Coulson breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing the other agent's voice. _At least she was conscious._

_"Romanoff, medics are on the way to the house...where's Clint?"_

Natasha voiced interjected suddenly, causing Coulson to hold his breath with apprehension, "Clint!...Hey, Clint, look at me..eyes forward..."

Coulson took that as confirmation he wasn't doing too good. _"Jesus, you two are the worst..if one of you isn't dying, the other has to be,"_ he added with a hint of playfulness in his tone. The humour in the harmless joke soon dissipated though when Natasha's panicked words cut through the line.

"Phil, you need to get here now!"

_"Natasha, what is it?"_

Natasha lifted up the ruined piece of gauze to examine the damage underneath. There was so much blood it looked to be coming from all angles. She reached for the first aid kit beside the bed and ripped out a wad of gauze to replace the blood soaked one against her partner's side. She pressed down even more on the fresh gauze causing another groan of pain to escape Clint's parted lips. "He's losing too much blood.." she whimpered softly, taking in her partner's ashen face. "The bullet must've hit something," she deduced with a frightful tone.

_"The team will be there in ten, Romanoff, just keep him awake.."_

Natasha nodded quickly and felt the prick of tears at the corners of her eyes. She untucked the phone from her chin and let it fall to the floor.

Clint's eyelids dipped dangerously again, signally to her that he was almost out of gas.

She paused for a short moment to think, to get some kind of order in her head. She blew out a sharp breath and decided to move. She removed her hands from Clint's side and shifted gingerly behind his limp body, careful of his wound, and pulled him with her so they could rest against the wall for added support.

Ragged gasps accompanied her movements as she slid him across the floor. With her back flat against the wall, she placed Clint between her legs, his back resting against her chest. He sagged against her and she clasped her arms around his waist, re-applying the pressure on his wound.

_"Keep him awake.."_

Natasha heard Coulson's voice tight with concern, echoing through the phone. She tightened her fingers around his waist, feeling the cold sweat against her touch. Clint let out an agonised whimper in response to the movement.

"Sorry..sorry," she apologised soothingly but maintained her grip on the wound. "Clint, you gotta stay with me...please," she begged, her fear-ridden voice wavering in the silence.

"'m tryin'.." he slurred softly, his weak voice barely reaching her ears.

"Just hold on," she urged again, placing her chin on the crown of his head.

His breathing grew more shallow as time drifted on, his lungs working overtime to draw fresh air in. She could feel him slipping away.

"I never got to say thank you.." she murmured, her voice low and soothing, hoping to keep them both awake as they awaited the oncoming help.

_Thank you for coming for me. Thank you for saving me. Thank you for giving me a new lease of life._

Natasha knew she could never thank him for all he had done for her. She knew that whatever she did, she could never repay the debt she owed him.

"S'okay Nat, there's a lot I haven't thanked you for..." he wheezed, turning his head slightly to try and get a better look at her.

She lifted her eyes to the ceiling, willing the medics to just bustle in and take away both their misery. "Clint, I-" she started, unable to stop the words as they left her mouth. She could hear her heartbeat hammering in her ears as she prepared herself for her revelation.

Clint mustered up the strength to turn towards her, twisting himself around so that their bodies were pressing against each other.

She released her hands from around his waist as he turned, her heartbeat accelerating even more at his movement. She held a breath when their eyes finally met. "Clint, what are you-"

"Thanking you.." he explained softly before pressing his soft lips against hers, drinking in her very life force.

Natasha melted into the kiss, automatically wrapping her hands around him again to hold him in place. She felt one of his hands find her own and they pressed their palms together, caressing the faint contours that lined each other's calloused skin. She allowed her nimble fingers to glide into his hair, smoothing them across his scalp. Her soothing circles caused an audible sigh to escape his lips, his breath brushing against her own.

He shifted absently again to get better access to her and she responded, instinctively pulling him more firmly against her chest, feeling his muscular body pressed against her.

She drank him in like she was a parched soul stranded in the desert. Her hair fell down over her shoulders, tickling his bare chest as the red curls descended silently.

Clint slowly brought his other hand up to caress her neck and he left it there to massage the skin gently, matching the rhythmic movement of their lips as they continued delving into each other.

She instinctively tightened her arms around him again, but stopped when she heard Clint groan audibly, his body involuntarily clenching up in protest. She pulled away, afraid of causing more damage to his already weakened body.

Clint grimaced at the loss of heat, the loss of her touch, the loss of her lips on his own. His eyelids shuddered as he felt a wave of sleepiness encompass his senses again and he fought to sharpen his blurred vision.

"Clint?" she watched him with deep concern and took note of their heavy breathing penetrating the silence in the small room. "What are we doing?"

Clint studied her for a moment and inhaled sharply before he spoke, "Somethin' we should 'ave done a long time ago.." he slurred, a smile ghosting his lips as he sank into her embrace again, "..just wish it was under better circumstances.." he added with a longing look in his eyes.

She couldn't stop the faint smile appearing on her face as she let Clint sag against her chest again, welcoming him into her embrace. His head lolled against her shoulder and she cradled his form as they sat in silence, feet entangled on the bedroom floor. Clint could hear Natasha's steady heart beat as he pressed his ear against her chest, the rhythmic beating lulling him to sleep. His eyes snapped open when he heard a faint intone coming from her lips above him.

"Hold you in my arms..I just wanted to hold you in my arms.."

He recognised the familiar melody and lyrics as she sang one of his favourite tunes into his ear, the soft whispers tickling his sweat infused skin. His mind flickered back to their banter before the mission with Bowen went to hell.

_I knew she loved that song._

"Our hopes and expectations..black holes and revelations.."

Her melodious voice began to trail off into the distance as Clint was finally overwhelmed by exhaustion. He succumbed to the encroaching darkness, sinking into oblivion.

* * *

End of Chapter 10

Final chapter coming up tomorrow guys! Hope you all have enjoyed this rollercoaster! I know I have! :)


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters._

Thank you so much for all the fantastic reviews..! You guys seriously light up my day! :)

* * *

"Natasha?"

Natasha flinched awake when the distant voice rang in her ears. She recognised it as female with it's high pitched quality.

"Agent Romanoff, you need to let him go," the voice repeated.

"Get Dalton in here quick," another voice called out, causing Natasha to snap her head upwards to find it's source.

She deduced that the voice was male by the deep and stern quality to it. She blinked her bleary eyes in an effort to get her swimming vision to focus. She took in the worried face of the SHIELD agent in front of her. It was Agent Lowell, one of SHIELD's brightest and best.

Natasha clenched unconsciously and only then did she realise there was something solid and heavy pressed against her chest.

_Clint._

She looked down and took in his pale face, his eyes closed, features completely lax. Her arms were encircling him in a death grip and she remembered singing to him, willing him to hold on until the medics got here.

A hand came forward to rest on her arm that was clasped around Clint's body, "You need to let him go.." Lowell repeated carefully.

Reluctant and terrified, Natasha maintained her grip on Clint's still form.

Clear and stern eyes met her own and Natasha heard Lowell speak up again, "Romanoff, it's okay, you can let him go.." the agent soothed, coaxing the red headed assassin to loosen her white knuckled grip.

Natasha nodded shakily, realising that she was being childish. Clint needed help and she knew she could do no more for him.

She loosened her grip on him, biting back a whimper as he was pulled from her embrace. The loss of his reassuring form against her made her chest ache. A rush of words and terms assaulted her clouding senses and she struggled to piece together what they were saying.

"He's tachycardic..hypotensive...BP's dropping.."

She sat there, bleary eyed, as she watched the team of medics swarm Clint. A male medic approached her and started to take her vital signs. He strapped on a blood pressure monitor and placed two fingers on her neck. "Romanoff, can you tell me where you are?"

Natasha snapped her eyes towards the new figure kneeling in front. She licked her lips before she spoke. "We're-" she hesitated, pausing to clear her throat, "-we're in the safe house?" she answered with uncertainty, her eyebrows arching, looking for confirmation.

If she was being honest, she wasn't sure where the hell they were any more. Everything was a blur. A blur of blood, a blur of voices, a blur of groping hands on her body.

"What day is it?" the male voice interjected her thoughts.

Natasha furrowed her eyebrows as everything began to lose focus again. The agent's tanned face started to blur at the edges.

"Romanoff, look at me..do you know what day it is?"

"T-tuesday?"

The medic glared worriedly and she knew that her answer was incorrect. Her head started to feel heavy as she tried pull herself together and concentrate. The medic pulled out a pen light from his bag of supplies and began to flash it in Natasha's eyes. She had to resist pulling away as a splitting headache began to blossom in her mind.

"Pupils are dilated and unequal.." he announced to another medic who had lowered down beside him. "Concussion?" the younger medic asked, eyes flashing with a hint of concern.

The tanned agent nodded once, "A nasty one, yeah."

Natasha could feel her self drifting off again, black dots spotting her vision. She felt herself slide to the floor, unable to keep herself upright against the wall. She felt the hardened floor now beneath her.

"Romanoff, c'mon, keep with us."

She turned her head to the side and took in Clint's unmoving form on the ground beside her. She was laying in the same position he was, just a few inches across from him. She let her eyes examine his ashen features, his body slumped on the cold ground. Her heart leapt in her chest when she heard Lowell's voice bark loudly.

"Guys, we need to get him out of here," Lowell urged, her voice borderline frantic.

"We need to get him stabilised first," a thundering voice chastised the blonde agent.

Natasha recognised the voice. It was Dalton. Somewhere in the middle of her confused haze he had arrived, brusque attitude and all with him.

"Sir, he won't make it if we don't move now.."

"All right, let's get going guys!"

Natasha forced her eyelids open to keep her focus on Clint. He was removed from her line of sight when the medics slid a backboard underneath his limp body, lifted him, and ventured quickly out of the safe house.

"Romanoff?" the agent in front of her asked worriedly, noticing her unfocused gaze.

Natasha tried to respond, tried to form words but her body wouldn't cooperate. She was done, her energy sucked clean. She had done her job, she had stayed with Clint until help came and she felt some comfort knowing that he still had a fighting chance, however slim that chance may be.

* * *

_"You'll keep me updated?"_ Coulson's voice boomed down the line.

Natasha was sat up in the SHIELD infirmary bed, the phone pressed against her ear. Her face was sporting purpling bruises and a thin line of stitches decorated the spot above her eyebrow.

"Yes, sir," she replied bluntly, wincing as she spoke, her split lip hissing in protest.

_"Good, mind yourself..I'll be in touch,"_ Coulson bid his goodbye and then hung up.

Natasha let the phone slip from her grasp and allowed her head to fall back against the pillow. She had been in the SHIELD base in Prague for the last four days now, recuperating, worrying, wandering from her room to Clint's, hoping to see him up and awake, finally, but no such luck.

She rubbed her forehead absently and tried to take her mind off everything that had happened in the last few days. Her mind wouldn't relax and she thought of her partner again. She was itching to see Clint, to feel his presence near her, to see his thoughtful yet childish eyes, to hear his gruff yet soft voice whisper in her ear again.

She huffed as she lifted herself off the bed gingerly, unhooking her IV line. She pulled her dressing gown off the hook on the wardrobe, wincing as she enveloped herself in the soft material, her muscles still stiff and achy from their ordeal in Istanbul.

She stepped carefully through the corridor, preparing herself to face his ashen features, to examine his tiny freckles as they stood out in contrast against his pallor. She turned the handle of the door and took in the familiar sight. The room was dark, only a dim light on the beside table illuminating their surroundings.

A faint smile ghosted her face as she spied Clint, bare chested and flat out on the bed, one pillow propping up his head slightly. A nasal cannula was fixed under his nose and across his face, giving him the extra bit of oxygen to help expand his weakened lungs. His midsection was plastered in white gauze and bandages where he had sustained the troublesome bullet wound. He had required a lengthy surgery to remove the bullet and repair the damage it caused. Numerous blood transfusions later, he remained unconscious and Natasha felt like she was inches away from pulling her hair out.

She let her eyes roam over his face, noticing the faint stubble shading it's lower half. He was breathing soundly, the breathy inhaling and exhaling pricking up her ears. She could hear his heart monitor beeping faintly in the distance, filling the eerie silence with it's quiet murmuring.

She eased herself down into the chair beside his bed and undid her dressing gown, shimming it off her shoulders to let it fall behind to rest on the chair. She inched her hand forward to grasp his own. She took in the dark circles surrounding his eyes, exhaustion still seeping through his lethargic appearance. She tighten her grip around his hand, willing him to reciprocate, to squeeze, to do anything. She let her head droop and it came to rest over her hand that encircled his on the bed.

"I can't do this without you, y'know..." she muttered quietly, her words falling on deaf ears. She stiffened suddenly when she felt Clint's hand twitch. His legs shifted beneath the sheets and he groaned audibly as he tried to ebb away from the drowning darkness.

"Clint?" Natasha spoke up, startled by his sudden movements. He began twisting in the bed, recoiling from her touch.

Fear gripped her like a vice and she stood up, not expecting the sudden change in his condition. She inched forward, panicked thoughts racing through her mind. "Clint..look at me! Look at me!"

He wasn't responding to her frantic calls and he thrashed wildly, the clean white sheets crumpling in response. He ripped the nasal cannula from his face and flailed aimlessly against an invisible presence. The more he drifted towards consciousness, the more agitated and disoriented he became.

Natasha placed her hands on his chest and pressed down lightly, allowing him to feel her reassuring touch, some form of skin to skin contact. He stilled as he felt her touch, fear and confusion encompassing his every muscle. He forced open his scrunched eyes and waited until his vision regulated itself.

Natasha watched as his eyelids rose, revealing his unfocused and pain clouded eyes. She breathed a relieved sigh as he visibly relaxed, his mind finally registering her face.

He tried to take in a breath but his chest protested and he coughed with a harsh wheeze. His jagged and heavy breaths penetrated the air, borderlining hyperventilation and she knew that she had to do something quick to calm him before he passed out again.

Without hesitation, she lifted the blanket that encircled his rigid body and climbed into the bed beside him, laying her body beside his. She managed to slip one arm under his own and place her palm flat against his chest. It felt like she was touching a hot furnace. "Clint, calm down..I'm here.."

Clint turned his head and pinned his eyes on her, fighting to control his ragged gasps. He was still struggling to draw air in.

She mimicked deep breaths and nodded, instructing him to do the same. "Breathe with me..that's it, just breathe.." she soothed, rubbing small circles on his bare chest. Clint reciprocated, never leaving her eyes as he drew in breath after breath.

Relief washed over her as he matched her movements, his breathing decelerating to a more manageable pace. "Keep breathing, Clint.."

Clint followed her instruction and let a faint smile appear on his exhausted face. Disorientation finally began to melt away as he finally came back to her.

"You okay?" she asked, her emerald eyes laced with concern.

"I am now.." he croaked, his voice barely audible. He turned his body towards her, settling more fittingly against her, both their bodies pressing firmly against one another.

Natasha chuckled lightly and she held a breath when she felt Clint's hands move to settle around her waist. She swallowed thickly, "I almost lost you.."

"I almost lost _you_.." he replied with a shaky breath, putting emphasis on the last word, remembering their nightmare in Turkey. It seemed like years ago to his fatigue-ridden mind. He let his eyes roam over her face, taking in her bruises and stitches. His eyes then settled on her lips, full and inviting. His jaw tensed unconsciously in contemplation and he raised her eyes to meet her own again.

"Well I'm not going anywhere, Barton.." she stated reassuringly.

"Promise?" he asked, eyebrows raising curiously.

"Promise.." she answered, a hint of reassurance and hope in her tone.

Clint blinked when he felt soft lips crush against his own, her subtle movement mashing them together perfectly. He closed his eyes, acknowledging her gift, a gift he yearned for. He deepened the kiss, moving his hands to the small of her back, pulling her slender figure more firmly against him.

She responded gladly and leaned in closer, her lips impatient and hungry. The tension that had accumulated in her stiff muscles completely seeped out of her and she instinctively moved her other hand to encircle Clint's body fully.

With their feet entangled under the sheets, they continued to press their eager bodies against each other, feeling the reassuring brush of flesh against feather light kisses. Clint reached up to glide his hand through her curls and he let it rest there to massage her scalp lightly.

A cacophony of heavy breaths encapsulated them as Natasha finally broke the kiss and studied Clint for a long moment.

Clint met her gaze and they stared longingly into each other's eyes, trying to read each other's guarded minds. His blue-grey eyes spoke volumes but the only thing Natasha could hear was their audible breathing in the silence. Clint slowly removed his hand from where it was invested in her scalp and replaced it onto her waist once again. He began to trace small circles there, eliciting an involuntary moan from her lips.

His feather light circles caused Natasha's goosebump covered body to shudder slightly, the alluring caresses tickling her in all the right places. "Rest.." she whispered softly as she watched his eyes slide shut with contentment.

Clint nodded gratefully and sank willingly into her embrace, nestling his head against her chest. Natasha smiled and responded, drawing him in closer to cradle his muscular frame against her own.

She knew in that moment that she had found home.

* * *

Fin

Hope you all enjoyed Catch-22..!It's been a pleasure! :D


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